Complex Composition
by Lira is a Girl's Name
Summary: Veser can appreciate being able to open a person up like a complicated puzzle, to touch the bits that comprise them directly and to change them by simple contact. Involves gearkink and spoilerishness. Veser/Ples.


AN: This was written for a prompt on the livejournal kink meme. It was as follows, "_Okay, okay, kink, Ples is made of gears inside (http:/yaoi./view/668569/). A constant ticking. I dunno, gear play if that makes any sense. Bonus points if you make stopping the gears into a form of orgasm denial_." In addition to being normal explicit, this contains a lot of pretty creepy description, so you've been warned. Hanna is Not a Boy's Name is the property of Tessa Stone and does not belong to me, who is making no money and in no way means to offend the lovely creator.

.

COMPLEX COMPOSITION

-by: Lira-

.

Veser's first clue was when he was hanging around Ples' kitchen watching the older man cut vegetables. Ples' movements were usually even and sure, his precision unparalleled. But just once the knife slipped, the point sliding forward and embedding just that tip into one of Ples' fingers. Ples quickly buried it in a towel and then moved to the sink to wash his hands, but Veser could see the little drop of liquid on the cutting board by the carrots, the sheen of it unmistakably the rainbow of light on oil.

Veser's second clue was a week later, when Ples had been drinking throughout their evening chat, only to have his eyes fly open upon seeing the time on one of his numerous clocks. He attempted to shoo Veser out, but his motions were slower than normal. Veser joked and cajoled, trying to bully Ples into letting him stay. But instead of the uncoordinated swinging motions Veser associated with drunk people, Ples was making jerky short movements, like an animation of Ples that had been slowed down. Veser conceded, puzzled enough that he was finally willing to leave.

Veser's third clue was when he tried kissing Ples for the first time with no alcohol involved. Usually Ples tasted of vodka or rum or tequila, whatever he had been drinking before Veser pounced on him. The flavor of Ples' mouth, unmasked by any foreign flavorings, tasted almost stale. Veser ignored it, because Ples wasn't drunk and was still kissing back, and fuck that noise he was going to take advantage of it while he could. But later, when he'd left and was alone again, he realized Ples tasted distinctly of rust.

When Veser confronted Ples about it, finally angry and certain enough to get in Ples' face until an explanation was given, Veser walked into one of the strangest conversations of his life. He had never anticipated hearing the man he was fucking around with explain calmly that he just wasn't quite human. Ples didn't explain exactly what he was, and Veser didn't ask. All Veser wanted to know was why Ples bled motor oil and tasted like rust. He would accept that Ples was just made differently and that was how it was.

Before then, Veser might have dreamed about being able to open his lover up, being able to reach inside their flesh and touch them from within. Being able to control absolutely everything because he could touch everything, and by doing so be able to understand the person perhaps better than he understood himself. It didn't matter that he wasn't all that perceptive and didn't like waiting around to figure out other people's complex emotions. This was quite literally like taking care of a very fine car. Things worked in a particular manner and one need only understand the rules.

Now, Veser could kneel down on the floor in Ples' bedroom, disdaining the bed, and slit Ples open almost as one would a corpse at autopsy. He could peel back the skin that ordinarily felt warm and firm like an ordinary human, roll away the flesh that covered the most delicate parts inside. He could trace over the gears with his fingertips and marvel at the material, all of the metal shiny and bright and perfectly fit together. An intricate puzzle, and if Veser went so far as to remove a gear, any one single gear, surely Ples would still like any other clockwork creature when it ran down.

Veser looked back up at Ples then, able to appreciate the perfectly calm expression on the man's face. Ples surely knew that Veser could stop him, could freeze him in a moment and just disable him indefinitely, if Veser so chose. Veser imagined the gears were like human organs, and while they might be tough alloys and not easily-rent human tissue, if he scraped one's surface with a pocketknife he expected it would hurt.

Veser met Ples' mouth with his own, the motions of his tongue rhythmic perhaps in part because Veser had a finger through one of Ples' gears and was gently sliding it back and forth within its rotation. Ples' response was to make the same deft motion of his mouth over and over, a novel experience because Veser couldn't mimic the same motion so many times with such perfection. He imagined no human could.

Finally Veser pulled away, and for once he had no words, no snark that he had to offer. What did you tell the man of gears you wished to torment? How could you articulate that the situation was erotic beyond measure and that you couldn't stop touching long enough to criticize anything?

Veser peeled off Ples' pants as efficiently as he could, wanting to open up every limb available to him and see what the insides looked like. But most interesting was Ples' cock, half-hard when Veser wrapped his hand around it. His hand was still, thumb braced against the vein on the underside. It looked so human, normal – so like Veser's own dick which was already hard where it was confined in his pants. When Veser raised the small scalpel Ples had given him, with a look so earnest and full of hopeful trust that Veser almost felt guilty, it took one smooth motion to slit Ples open up the length.

Ples gave a little hiss when Veser did it, and he couldn't tell at all if it was a sound of pain or one of pleasure. He peeled back the skin just a bit, just enough to reveal the mechanical armature inside. The gears were tiny and perfect, the teeth little points as Veser ran his thumb over them. He spun one gently, and Ples gasped louder. Veser glanced to the man's face for a second, feeling devious, before returning to spinning the gears slowly, watching the movement surge outward as more gears were drawn into the effort. Ples hissed again, a drawn-out sound like air being released from a bellows, and Veser let go to watch the gears rotate back into stillness.

When they stopped, Ples was hard.

"Do you come with a user's manual?" Veser joked.

He was only ever held speechless for so long.

"I am afraid not," Ples said drily. "Although if you ask, I can disclose answers."

"Is there anything inside of you that, you know?" Veser began, making a lewd hand gesture meant to indicate fucking. "Might cut somebody's dick off?"

"It hasn't happened yet," Ples replied.

Veser wasn't sure if that answer reassured.

Veser's hand closed around Ples' cock from the outside, smoothing down the edges of the rent flesh before carefully stroking. It was strange for him, going slow, but the danger of sharp gears nestled inside Ples' equipment was enough to convince him not to be hasty. The steady, even motion he was affecting seemed to please Ples, whose eyelids fluttered lightly as he leaned back against the side of the bed for support. Veser watched him when his eyes were closed, shifting forward for a surprise kiss without ceasing stroking.

Ples kissed back, and aside from the hint of rust, it could be like kissing anyone. As Ples' tongue brushed his, Veser found himself wondering if it was full of gears, too. If he could take the scalpel to Ples' mouth and slice inside, open up that soft bite of flesh, would motor oil come jetting out? The only thing stopping Veser from trying was the fact that rust was still the preferable flavor, and he'd rather make out with Ples than watch thick black fluid drip off Ples' chin and into the open cavity of his chest. He might want to take Ples apart, just a little bit, but it was not worth the risk of being unable to put the man back together after.

Thinking about it – even if he couldn't do it – Veser found himself fumbling for Ples' arm with his free hand. He drew the man to him, placing Ples' splayed fingers against the crotch of his pants. He wanted to be touched while he touched Ples, to feel those deft fingers working him and to imagine that beneath the surface there were metal sinews instead of proper human flesh. To think of all of the little pieces that put together could mimic a person's hand, could move more surely than nature's own creation. Ples wasn't even watching what his hand was doing, and yet the front of Veser's pants was undone, slim digits pulling him free and wrapping around, the sensation making Veser think of a vise and making him shiver.

Veser stroked as Ples stroked, half-consciously trying to mirror the movement, trying to get himself perfectly in tandem with Ples' expert rhythm. Veser found himself wondering just how many times Ples had done this, and wondering whether or not there really was some sort of manual for Ples which would just be buried in the recesses of his brain. That led to twin thoughts – on the one hand was a nice visualization of Ples jerking off by himself. On the other was one of slicing into the base of Ples neck, pulling the scalpel higher and higher until the blade stuck in the man's hair and went no further. Peeling back the tight covering by handfuls and peering underneath, imagining a delicate tracery of wires covering the most intimate secrets of Ples' impossible composition.

All of it was dragging Veser far too close far too quickly, and he couldn't have the experience over so soon. The rust-flavor was becoming heavy, coating Veser's tongue like a slick ichor, invading him through his tastebuds and doing fuck only knew what else. Veser had a passing thought that maybe it was like alcohol – intoxicating – or maybe an aphrodisiac, and that was why he felt about ready to burst from the pressure in his balls. He gripped Ples harder, jerked him faster, kept careful mind of the thin gash in the flesh. He could feel a slickness lubricating the motions, and had a strong suspicion that it was oil from within and not precome.

Veser broke away with a quiet gasp, licking his lips and watching Ples properly for the first time in so many minutes. He wasn't used to being so inside his head for sex, but he also wasn't used to people made out of clockwork. His thoughts and his body's insistence that he had surpassed the threshold for what he could endure was crowding in his head, and somehow there wasn't any of Ples' characteristic ticking. Veser completely stopped stroking for a few long seconds, and he could feel Ples' dick pulsing gently in his hand.

The idea came then. Veser watched Ples' face, already half-glazed from pleasurable sensations, before crooking one finger around the underside of Ples' cock and hooking it inside one of the gears. The entire mechanism had been twirling slowly inside up until that point, surely relaying all of the sensations back to whatever passed for Ples' brains. In one jerky motion it stopped, the gears seizing up as one and turning into a still column of metal. Ples' eyelids fluttered, and then opened fully, a confused expression sliding into place.

"Veser?" Ples murmured, his hand slowing down and finally stopping. "What... Please?"

It was the neediest single syllable Veser had ever heard from Ples. He was so used to Ples being impossible to rattle, to having to drag out his best slights and his best jokes just to get a rise out of Ples. Whenever Ples had a problem, the best Veser got was confusion, or perhaps vague displeasure. Never a plea, never a word so infused with raw emotion, with something verging on desperation. Ples' hand began moving again, much harder than before, faster, more determined. His expression was still puzzlement and want, but the motions of his hand meant business.

"Veser," Ples said again, voice breaking slightly in the middle. "Don't. Please? I can't-"

Veser could see the muscles in Ples' neck beginning to stand out visibly, taut like cables – maybe they were cables. He deduced that Ples was under some great strain, that by putting Ples' equipment in stasis the tension worked up through the entire system, getting everywhere. It was like he was transforming Ples into something fueled by him, something he could keep and which he would not have to relinquish in the morning or when Ples forced him to go home.

The balance was that Veser didn't know what would happen if he pushed any farther, not when Ples was actually, practically begging, and he couldn't afford to miss-judge on that one. Even Veser could imagine the guilt he would feel if he caused Ples damage the man could not repair.

Veser sure as fuck wasn't going to say any of that out loud, so he kissed Ples one more time, hard, and eased his finger out of Ples' workings. Veser didn't even get time enough to touch Ples further; as soon as the gears sprung back into motion the man was pulsating over Veser's hand, the force of his orgasm causing him to rock back against the side of the bed again, pulling Veser with him by Veser's cock.

Veser came forward automatically, the pressure on his dick enough to verge on pain, but just hovering within the tolerable, pleasurable range. Ples was trembling lightly everywhere Veser was in contact with him, including his cock. It was such a slight motion, something that ordinarily he might have ignored. But he'd been trying not to come the entire time, trying to hold out and quite literally rattle Ples' gears as much as possible. Those last, more gentle touches were the end, and Veser didn't even realize he was coming right into the open cavity of Ples' chest.

Veser was busily devouring Ples' mouth the whole while, the only thank you he was going to attempt to get across for the entirety of it. Nothing changed, Ples' mouth warm and yielding for all that it tasted of rust, and Veser did not see until several minutes later when he pulled back and stretched, feeling sated and fully up for pestering Ples about giving him a beer. His response upon catching a glimpse of Ples' splattered workings was to burst into uncontrolled laughter.

Veser rocked slightly, back and forth on his heels as if it was the laughter propelling him, knowing that maybe it wasn't quite so funny but that he also couldn't stop. But even as he rocked and watched, Ples straightened up and the gears speckled with ejaculate began to move in an entrancing fashion, forward and back and forward and back. Veser could see them all coming clean, his come seeming to fall through the parts or evaporate completely – Veser didn't know which. When this was done, and the gears were all moving in their proper, slow rotations, and Ples began to seal his chest closed as if it was an ordinary occurrence.

Veser stopped laughing just in time to observe, for once finding the restoration of order almost as fascinating as the chaos. Ples had lightly bitten his thumb and was closing the gap with that hand, leaving Veser to wonder if Ples had secretions other than motor oil. His come had felt and looked like Veser's own, and Veser wondered what else Ples could do to pass himself off as an ordinary human.

Only then, when the gaps in Ples' flesh were almost sealed shut, did Veser again hear the ticking. He hadn't even realized that it had stopped, or perhaps just that his perception of it had stopped. The entire time he'd had his hands inside Ples' workings, Veser had not noticed any particular thing that would cause the noise. He hadn't opened up Ples' arms or legs, and he hadn't gotten inside Ples' head, but all of a sudden that didn't matter. Perhaps it was, in part, that Veser saw himself inside of Ples, in a much more enduring fashion than if they had only fucked. Maybe it didn't mean that Veser would get to stop begging for beers or waiting until Ples was on his way to drunk to try to kiss him. But it was something Veser could lord over Ples if he had to.

"You just go back together again," Veser commented, still a bit amused. "Like you're somebody's doll that I tore and now you're sewing yourself back up."

Ples glanced up from delicately repairing the slice in his dick, the look on his face that usual faint disbelief, as if Veser had done it yet again and Ples was shaking his head at being there to witness it. Ples finished repairing his member before taking his hands and folding them, using one upraised knee to rest them on.

"I do hope you avoid thinking too much of this," Ples said, that calm, even tone that Veser never knew what to do with. "While I may have some extra protections, I still have my worries and my fears, same as you. Do you never wonder what makes us human?"

The last was said shrewdly, and Veser knew he was supposed to think about it. To him it just sounded like Ples didn't want any special treatment, which was fine with Veser. In fact, he had some thoughts of his own on the matter.

"I think this means you should start buying me drinks," Veser said, voice cheerfully aggressive. "As payment. I mean, you don't want me telling just anybody that you're all full of metal bits, do you?"

Ples watched Veser then, as if hyper-focused on the puzzle that was Veser's off-hand blackmail, or perhaps as if he thought Veser would reconsider if confronted with a blank stare for long enough.

"I suppose," Ples said, with a warning note to his voice. "I can permit you a drink, within my own home, so long as I am here to supervise."

Veser thought that sounded an awful lot like Ples ensuring they would be somewhere nice and private after he had plied Veser with alcohol, so that he could take advantage of him. Veser said bring it on.

"In that case, I think we should mosey back down to the kitchen and pour me a hard one," Veser suggested cheerfully.

"I will be pouring," Ples cautioned, sliding from the floor and using one hand on the nearby mattress to help him rise. Before Veser could even do anything, Ples was catching up his pants and redressing.

"Spoilsport," Veser muttered.

The entire time Veser sat in his boxers in Ples' kitchen, nursing his drink because whatever Ples put in it – Ples hadn't showed him and patiently wouldn't tell him – must have been at least one hundred proof, he was imagining that the bottle Ples was drinking out of was full of motor oil. He hoped that would stop soon; it was making his own drink taste funny.


End file.
